The Boy and His Stablehand
by Sikla Alkis
Summary: Ira, patientia, misericordia — wrath, patience and mercy. Before he took up his sword, the knightly virtues were beginning to swell within him, blossoming to turn his heart into gold. Within is a glimpse into the childhood of Sir Justin Arthur, before the times of the Knights of the Round Table and his work in the far-flung future. /DCAU Justice League Fic/


**The Boy and His Stablehand**

**_1: Wrath_**

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><p><strong>- o -<strong>

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><p>Wrath was something the boy had rarely bore witness to. As a good child, God-fearing and obedient to his Father and Scripture, he did not cause unnecessary trouble. He rose with the sun for tutoring and to run errands, studying the ways of the world one moment and going to market the next. He was not to leave his father's estate without prior reason or warning, and girls — other than casual acquaintances — were not socialized with. He was to be polite, cleaning his plate and acknowledging those of higher birth, and to not question anything his father told him. He was a firstborn son of good pedigree and breeding, and by the Lord Himself, the young noble was to<em>show it.<em>_  
><em>

He could not fathom such blood. He could not turn his eyes away from the marks on the stable boy. Suspended in a state of disbelief, his feet froze to the spot as the other lad cried out in ruth. Tears were streaming down the worker's face, barely a summer younger than the highborn youth himself; his pleas for forgiveness drowned themselves in wails and the running of his nose. Arms held over his head, the boy curled into a ball as a horsewhip loomed over him, that young noble's same father gave an angry stare. His teeth bared like a savage wolf's, his face fire's red with his neck veins bulging.

"You will _never _touch a horse in my stable again," the man snarled, his voice a low, deadly whisper. "You are hearby dismissed from your duties — get._ Out._"

With a sharp kick, the toe of his boot connecting with a soggy thud, the highborn boy's father sent the stablehand sprawling. The child went flailing across straw and stone, scrambling to his feet in a series of wheezes and gasps. He limped out, blood smeared across him and the floor of the stable. The bad-tempered stallion he had let loose from a stall kicked at its door in anger.

When the remaining youth's father finally turned to him, his face passive despite the smoulder in his eyes, the boy flinched. He swallowed, eyes up and then down as his father approached. He tensed as the man stopped alongside him, a great, calloused hand coming to rest on a shoulder. There was a firm gentleness to it that was stark to the harshness seen before.

"It was a lesson, Ystin ap Iustinius," the man began, trying to take a solemn tone. Ystin could _feel_ the heat coming through it as the words settled into his ears. "The boy almost lost us a valuable horse. My herd is hand-picked for a reason. Do you understand?"

There was silence. Ystin's expression was of nothing — the only thing that expressed was his distant gaze. Sky-clear, babe's blue eyes settled on ugly streaks of dark and orange-lined red. His father's grip tightened.

_"Ystin."_

The child looked up, but only in a brief glance. His focused his sight on a bale of hay instead.

"I...I understand, _Tad_."

"Good."

The man gently grabbed Ystin's chin, jerking it upwards. Ystin felt fright for a moment, but schooled his expression into neutrality as his head turned left and right. His father gave the boy's face a critical gaze, eyes settling on a long, thin gash across Ystin's forehead. It was shallow enough that it had begun to scab over.

"This is from when you tried to wrangle Nynniaw back into the corral, isn't it?"

"Yes _Tad_."

"Did he strike you with anything? His head, his hoof, his teeth?"

"I tried to get on him, and I...I fell, _Tad_."

A pause came, and then a flickering look of worry. "...You fell off my horse."

"I did, sir."

The older man gave a particularly disapproving scowl. "And this is why you're still just a young fool, Ystin," he growled. "Next time, call one of the other stablehands over. I appreciate your concern, but you are far too important to be doing _their _work. Go and get cleaned up."

Gently shoved into movement, Ystin briskly walked out of the stable, keeping himself straight and steady as he did. He passed servants, washer-women and other stable boys by without flinching, eyes ahead and on a winding dirt path. So long as there were people, the highborn child kept dignity in every movement, striding with a purpose that the others had no business knowing. They dipped their heads and stood aside, giving the son of Lord Iustinius ap Iustus the space he demanded. A few might have glanced at the cut on his forehead, and some might have even heard the commotion at the stable, but they were silent. It was not their place to speak.

Only when he was out of earshot and eyesight, passing into a copse of trees that surrounded and shrouded part of the path, did he run. His fists clenched, his eyes watered and he nearly choked out a cry, but he held his jaw firm. Like a deer spooked from its hiding place, he bolted the rest of the way up the path, headed for the garden his mother usually kept to. She was going to be so upset with him...

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><p><em>The Shining KnightSir Justin Arthur and the DCAU is (c) DC Comics, Warner Brothers, and etc._

_Text (c) Sikla Alkis — this is a fanwork, and is not endorsed by DC Comics or any of its related properties, companies or people_


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